Gameplay (8 page)

Just ahead they could see the sprawling vista of the next hexagon, at last a break from the forest terrain. Flat, unpleasant-looking desolation spread out into the dusk. Delrael took a deep breath of the forest smells, and knew that would all change the next morning when they crossed the black line into the rocky desert.

On their long walk, Delrael had warmed up to Tallin, a companion with whom he could discuss strategy, adventuring, and tactics. He explained about the Outsider David trying to end the Game, and of their quest to find a way to stop Scartaris. He said nothing about the Earthspirits hidden in his belt.

At camp Tallin gathered wood, explaining how to stack it for a better fire. He refused to let Bryl use a spell and started the fire himself with a rough stone and the metal from his belt buckle. Annoyed, Bryl let him have his way.

Upon seeing the pack food his companions intended to eat, the ylvan snorted in disgust. Tallin secured the crossbow on his shoulder and scrambled up the trunk of a tree, finding fingerholds where none appeared visible. He called down from the branches. “This shouldn’t take long.” His mottled green clothes blended into the forest shadows and he vanished in the leaves.

Delrael lost three more games of tic-tac-toe to Journeyman, tied one, and won one. Vailret played idly with his own set of dice. Tallin dropped down into the clearing, holding two quail. “Quite an improvement over standard pack food, especially stuff that’s been replenished by a spell too many times.”

Bryl looked miffed, but the prospect of fresh meat seemed to brighten him. He changed his mind, though, when he was assigned the task of plucking feathers. Tallin spitted the meat and left it to cook above the flames of the campfire, bowed over the heat on thin green branches. The smell was deliciously inviting as the quail sizzled in the smoke. They could hear the meat hissing against the burning wood.

“Is it finger-lickin’ good?” Journeyman asked, watching them eat. They cleaned every bone on the two carcasses. “I can’t believe you ate the
whole
thing!”

After the meal, Tallin piled wood on the campfire so it would burn all night. Journeyman remained on watch as the others brought out blankets, settling down on the leaves and forest grass to sleep. Bryl brushed branches away and moved three times before he found a comfortable spot. Tallin lay by himself in a light sleep.

Delrael propped his head against the smooth bark of a maple tree. He bent his knees, rubbing the pliable
kennok
wood of his left leg, and kept his feet warm by the fire as the autumn air cooled down for the night. The taste of the meal remained in his mouth, and he could smell the smoke from the low campfire. He looked at the young ylvan beside them and felt safe and content as he drifted off into sleep.

* * *

Gairoth listened to the pounding of drums inside his head. Pain made the bones in his skull vibrate. Leaves and dead grass stuck to his face. He pawed them away, smearing his cheeks and skin with muddy markings.

The ogre looked around the hollow. Delroth was gone. The torn, discarded sack showed him that the little ylvan had also fled—and Gairoth’s sack was ruined. He had killed an old traveler for it, though he found little treasure inside. Now he would never find another sack.

Dark, speechless anger bubbled up in him, increasing the pain in his head. He sat up, holding hands against his temples to squeeze the pain back inside.

Rognoth, his pet dragon, was gone, chased far to the north by another dragon brought by Delroth. Bryl the magic user had taken away Gairoth’s shiny diamond Air Stone. All the rest of his treasure was gone, too, after his Maw had chased him away from the Stronghold.

And when he had tried to go home, Gairoth found a giant river right where his cesspools had been. Right where his
home
had been.

The ogre felt outraged, betrayed, saddened. The ylvan called him a Loser—maybe that was true. But it was all Delroth’s fault. Gairoth pounded both fists into the soft ground, then clenched them in a stranglehold around the end of his club.

The ogre climbed to his feet. He had nothing else to do now.

His teeth hurt. His skin hurt. The inside of his head hurt. All of him hurt. Everything had been so nice before. Before Delroth had come.

Gairoth’s mind fixed on the idea. He would take a quest of his own. It sounded right to him, a straightforward solution, something he could concentrate on and never forget. He would follow Delroth, and find him, and smash him with the club. BAM!

He stood up and, his stomach growling with hunger, he tossed aside the torn and empty sack. It had been a good sack. Gairoth found the footprints of the group along one of the clear quest-paths.

The ogre followed them.

* * *

Tallin woke the others more than an hour before sunrise. He rubbed his little hands together in the crisp air and blew steam from his mouth. “Come on, let’s get going.” He nudged Bryl on the ground. “We’ve got a hex or two of desolation to cover. I’ve never been out of the forest before.”

Bryl rubbed his eyes. “Whose quest is this, anyway?”

Vailret held his hands over the still-warm embers of the fire. He flexed fingers that were red with cold.

“He’s right.” Delrael got up, stretched, then folded his blanket. “The terrain should be easy to follow.”

Together, the five of them crossed the abrupt line that severed the hexagon of forest terrain from the desolation ahead. The lush health of the forest disappeared entirely, leaving the ground stricken with blight, dying away into a wasteland. The soil became barren and rocky. Stalks of prairie grass stood in brown patches, dotting the ground.

The coming dawn left a curtain of deep shadow on the flat terrain. The dark Spectre Mountains were visible in the distance as a black jagged silhouette blocking the rising sun. A few stars still prickled the deep blue dome of sky.

As they walked deeper into the hexagon, the dead earth became cluttered with oddly identical boulders, as if something had cut them out of the dirt and scattered them across the plain. The flat ground had a strange, patterned look ahead of them.

In the dim light, and with his poor eyesight, Vailret stumbled upon a series of deep hexagonal wells rimmed by a low mound six feet across. He caught himself, called out to the others, and stared down. The sharply defined hole plunged into the blackness of catacombs beneath the terrain.

“I can’t tell what it is,” he said.

Delrael picked up a rock and tossed it down. They heard it strike the bottom a moment later. “Not very deep,” Delrael said. He tossed another stone at an angle. It pinged against the walls, but gave no real hint about the depth of the tunnels.

“Could be just a labyrinth left over from the early days of the Game,” Vailret said. “Back when characters did nothing but wander around in dungeons and catacombs, looking for monsters to fight and treasure to steal.”

Tallin pointed across the desolation as the daylight grew brighter. “Do you see those other openings? I can make out at least a dozen more holes scattered around.”

They moved ahead, and the wells became more and more frequent until they seemed like pores on the surface of the land, connected by an underground network of tunnels. “We’ve got a whole hexagon of this to cover?” Bryl said.

“Now I don’t see why any character would want to leave the forest terrain,” Tallin said.

“All this is starting to make me remember something,” Vailret said. He slowed his pace, taking time to look around.

“Come on, I want to get out of this place,” Bryl said. “Something unpleasant could crawl out of those holes.”

“Don’t worry. Be happy,” Journeyman said.

“We’re stuck anyway,” Delrael said. “According to the map, there’s another hex of desolation after this one, and we can’t go any farther than that today.”

Vailret nodded. “It’s in Rule #5.”

Bryl bit his lip and said nothing. He pulled the folds of his blue cloak tight around him. The orange dawn behind the Spectre Mountains looked like fire across the desolation.

Then, between a cluster of the hexagonal wells, they came across a place where the dusty ground was churned and broken. A glossy dark shape lay half buried in the earth.

Journeyman scooped dirt off the polished black form. “Holy ant farms, Batman!” The golem stood back, showing the uncovered carcass to the others.

Bryl gasped. Vailret squinted down, as if trying to remember something he had read. Delrael and Tallin were hard pressed to remain silent.

They gazed upon the dead hulk of an ant ten feet long. Its antennae appeared broken, but the hard exoskeleton retained its shape like a perfect suit of armor.

“Do you remember stories about the Anteds?” Vailret swallowed hard, “We could be in a lot of trouble here.”

Tallin kicked at the carcass. “This one’s dead enough.”

“Yes, but we’re standing on a whole
colony
of them.” Vailret turned around, but the growing light was not enough for him to make out anything. “We may be better off running back to the last hex of forest terrain and going around the long way. We’ve got to make up our minds fast.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Journeyman said.

Delrael studied the gleaming black hulk. It wasn’t exactly like an ant, but had stockier legs and more powerful joints to accommodate the increased size. He could kill one or two of the giant insects, given a few advantages, good luck, and time to fight.

But he couldn’t take on an entire colony, not even with the assistance of his companions.

He looked across the desolation and a chill feeling went up his spine. He could see no end to the colony ahead. Every step they took, every movement they made, sent tell-tale vibrations to other Anteds waiting below.

A loud chirp echoed from one of the holes behind them, inviting an answer closer to their left. Another chirp sounded behind them. The travelers drew themselves together, looking around. Tallin nocked an arrow in his crossbow. Delrael pulled out his sword, and Bryl removed his two Stones. Journeyman balled his fists into two battering rams.

“It’s Howdy Doody time,” the golem said.

The Anted chirps grew louder and more frequent, closer to them.

***

7. Catacombs of the Anteds

“All characters play games: dice games, games of skill, role-playing games. These things are for our amusement. But we also play power games, games for conquest, dominance, and victory—games of life and death.”

—Preface,
The Book of Rules

Delrael knew they would never make it across the colony that filled the open, desolate hexagon. They could sense the Anteds out there, coming nearer through the tunnels beneath them.

He pulled out his sword, he bent his knees, he narrowed his eyes. Adrenalin pumped into his bloodstream, and time slowed down. His
kennok
-wood leg felt completely a part of him, ready to perform. He swallowed in a dry throat, prepared for battle. The excitement of the Game filled him.

“Wonderful,” Tallin said, “I leave my forest to get eaten by bugs.” The ylvan placed a small arrow in his crossbow and stood beside Delrael. His green-splotched forest camouflage made him look conspicuous on the rocky brown ground.

“Bryl, get ready with your Stones,” Delrael said, not looking at the old half-Sorcerer. He swung his blade in the air, loosening his arm.

Bryl bit his lip and said nothing. He clacked the four-sided diamond and the eight-sided ruby together in the palm of his hand. His skin turned pale with fear.

Vailret pulled out his own short sword and stared down at the blade. He sighed and imitated Delrael’s stance. Delrael knew his younger cousin lacked confidence, and interest, in fighting. Maybe that was why Vailret always wanted to plan things so far ahead of time, to minimize conflicts.

Delrael heard a clattering in the holes near them, a strange inhuman sound. A glistening black head rose up, waving antennae like stiff leather whips. Serrated jaws opened and closed like sabers on well-oiled hinges. The ant head swiveled back and forth, as if scanning them.

“Sufferin’ succotash!” Journeyman said.

The Anted used powerful jointed legs to heave itself over the rim of the hexagonal mound. Two more insects climbed out of nearby holes. Orange dawn light flashed on their polished chitin. The insects chirped together with a pounding, grating rhythm. Other Anteds drew nearer.

Acting on his own desperation, Bryl took the Fire Stone, closed his eyes, and rolled it at his feet. “Give me luck this time!”

The eight-sided ruby landed in the soft dirt with the “4” facing up. Bryl clapped his hands and snatched the Fire Stone back, calling up the spell. He surrounded the five of them with a ring of fire that bloomed up from the rocky ground, bright and deadly, sealing them off from the Anteds. The nearest insects chittered and reared back.

“Safe as the Stronghold walls!” Bryl said.

“Would you mind explaining what good it does?” Tallin asked. “The Anteds just have to wait you out.”

Bryl avoided the question. “I’ve got four more spells after this one.”

Delrael paced back and forth, holding his sword. Behind the flames another shape emerged from a tunnel opening, moving among the milling Anted forms. It looked human, or nearly so, and rode on the back of one of the insects. The part-human creature let out a series of guttural noises, poor imitations of the Anted chirps.

“What is that disgusting thing?” Tallin dropped his voice so Delrael could barely hear it over the din of insect chirps and the roar of the flames. “Is it a human character?”

The figure gestured and made more noises, as if barking orders. The bright flames made too many long shadows in the dim morning, masking out details.

Bryl wiped sweat off his forehead. His knuckles whitened as he strained to keep his wall of flames up.

“Looks like we don’t have to wait any more.” Delrael shifted his grip on the sword.

An Anted thrust its head and forelimbs through the rippling wall of fire. Its antennae burned, smoking and writhing. The Anted collapsed with a moan like bending metal as its insides cooked within the black armor. Delrael heard popping and sizzling; a sour stench steamed up from cracks in the insect’s shell.

Another Anted came forward, sacrificing itself next to the first. It tumbled, legs curled into the air. A third Anted died, completing a bridge across the fire.

Bryl squeezed the Fire Stone, trying to push the fire up through the insect bodies, but his spell faded. Bryl fell to his knees, exhausted, curling his lip to keep the fire burning. The flame died away, leaving only black and smoking rocks. He blinked, disoriented for a second, and hung his head. Other Anteds clambered over their fallen comrades.

Vailret turned around, squinting in the smoke and stench, trying to appear threatening with his short sword. Journeyman punched his fist into the palm of his other hand with a loud smacking sound. Delrael touched his sword hilt, ready to die fighting. “Luck,” he said to all of them.

The part-human character rode on the back of one Anted where he could survey the attack. The rider appeared to have been a human once, but was now stunted and twisted. His hair had fallen out in patches, and his eyes bulged wide and unblinking. His skin was pasty pale, as if he had been isolated from sunlight for years—but it also had an oily gleam when the light struck it at a certain angle. He wore plates of black chitin, broken shells from the Anteds, on his back and sides. The chitin looked as if it had grown in, rather than just tied on.

The part-human figure gestured in the air, showing fingers that had fused together. The nails had become solid and grown down over his knuckles in a hooked claw that resembled those of the Anteds.

“Wait!” Vailret called. “What do you want?”

The part-human creature rode his Anted through the other insects, emerging at the front. He cocked his head to look at them. He sniffed the air. His saucer-like eyes did not blink. The other Anteds pressed close beside him, gaping open their sharp jaws.

“Maybe we’d better not fight,” Vailret whispered. He gestured for them to lower their weapons. “Just surrender for now.”

Delrael remembered the role-playing game his father and Bryl had put him through on his eleventh birthday, making him imagine he had been taken captive by a tribe of vicious worm-men. Vailret had a similar role-playing adventure about being captured by the cruel reptilian Slac. “Are you sure you want to be taken alive?”

Vailret looked at him, and Delrael knew what he was thinking. Neither of them had survived their imaginary captivity in the vivid role-playing game.

“Looks like we’re out of luck otherwise.” Tallin rubbed his fingers at the point of his beard. “I wish I was back in the forest terrain. The ylvan were boring, but safe.”

“I’d rather stay alive, if it’s all the same to you,” Bryl said.

Vailret called out again to the part-human creature. “We won’t resist.” He sheathed his short sword, and motioned for Delrael to do the same. Tallin put his crossbow back on his shoulder.

Delrael stood motionless, uneasy. His empty hand fidgeted around the hilt of his sword. He shuffled his feet in the dust. He didn’t like this at all.

“Take us to your leader,” Journeyman said.

The part-human creature made a chuffing, chirping sound from the bottom of his throat. The circle of Anteds grew tighter until one opened its deadly mandibles around Bryl’s waist. The half-Sorcerer fainted, slithering down into the grip of the ebony jaws. The Anted lifted Bryl’s limp form into the air, then marched toward one of the tunnel openings.

Four more insects came forward for the rest of them. The Anteds stopped chirping.

Delrael ground his teeth together, so tense that he felt as if his muscles would snap. He wanted to lash out, to fight to the death—but his feet dangled uselessly below him when the Anted picked him up. He felt the insect’s sharp mandibles even through his leather armor.

The jaws made gouges in the soft clay of the golem’s skin, but Journeyman kept nudging the clay back into place.

The part-human dismounted looked at the dead Anted hulk buried near where they stood.

With both hands he lifted up the shell of the insect’s head and, with a snap of his arms, he twisted it off the main body. With his hardened knuckles, he rapped on the chitin. The exoskeleton rang hollow, and dried threadlike debris tumbled to the ground. Satisfied, he tucked the empty head under his arm like a trophy and scrambled back onto his mount.

The other Anteds moved forward and descended into one of the openings.

* * *

The tunnels slanted downward, twisting deep beneath the surface. Delrael wondered how far they could go before they struck the bottom of the map. The far walls of the tunnel flooded past into murk before and behind him.

The air held a thick musty odor of dust and claustrophobia. The walls were made of fused, gritty sand.

After his eyes became accustomed, Delrael realized the catacombs were not totally dark. Patches of fungus had been smeared on corners and near the curved ceilings, and these glowed with a faint green, barely enough to see by.

The ants covered a great distance in the tangled tunnels before climbing upward again. Delrael was sore and anxious to know what they would find at the end of the journey. The other companions did not speak.

The part-human creature dismounted and scampered ahead, at home in the tunnels. The insects began chirping to each other in a strange chant. The part-human made a loud imitation of the chirps himself, then used his hooked claw-hands to tear at his sides and under his arms. Lines of dried blood marked previous injuries on the stiff skin.

The Anteds carried them into a large sunlit grotto chiseled out of the cementlike walls. Delrael knew before he could blink the bright light out of his eyes that they had entered the queen’s chamber. It was what he expected.

“And now for a word from our sponsor,” Journeyman said.

The Anteds released their captives. Delrael staggered on numb legs and tingling feet. He rubbed his pinched sides to restore feeling. Journeyman smoothed the gouge marks from his clay torso.

A huge Anted spoke from an odd dais carved out of polished gray stone. “Consort, what have you brought your queen?” Her reedy voice was clicking and cumbersome.

The Anted queen’s body was glossy black, but her head was polished liquid-smooth, completely without the many-faceted eyes of the other insects. Her mandibles were smaller, atrophied. Two thin, cellophane wings curled down beside her in a clear amber cloak.

Delrael scanned the throne room, automatically checking options for escape. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Tallin do the same. He felt a rapport with the tough little ylvan.

In the streaming light from the wide opening overhead, many tunnels branched off from the other walls. Dust motes gleamed as they fell through the sunlight toward the floor.

The part-human creature set down the empty Anted head he had been carrying and crept forward. His lower jaw jutted out, and his words had a garbled whistling quality. “Ryx, Ryx, Ryx.…”

“Are these to be alternative choices for me, Consort?” The queen ant spoke to the part-human creature. “Is that why you brought them?”

“No!” The consort-creature scrabbled forward in fear and awe, but eager. He walked on his hands and legs in a bucking, hunchbacked gait that looked oddly natural for him. Delrael saw wide lumpy ridges along his ribcage, as if another folded set of limbs had begun to grow there.

Consort cooed and made his weird chirping noise as he crawled up to Ryx’s feet. He ran his clawed fingers over her limbs, straightening the bristle hairs on her forelimbs. He nuzzled up, rubbing his hands along her abdomen, stroking her golden wings.

Ryx tilted her eyeless head back. Her small mandibles opened and closed. She emitted a high keening sound.

Consort pushed his face against her chitin plates, leaving a wet streak from his thick, damp tongue. “Ryx … Ryx … Ryx …” he said. His claws scraped on her exoskeleton, then reached between her mandibles with loving gentleness. He probed her mouth parts.

“I can’t give you much more to eat,” the queen said, “You will transform too quickly. I don’t want to risk that. You are my consort—I don’t want anything to go wrong.”

“More, Ryx … more. Hungry.” Consort snuffled and whined.

“Just a sip.” She reached out with her forelimbs to stroke the plates implanted in his back and the tattered shreds of hair on his head.

A whitish-gold syrup oozed from a channel in the inside of her mouth. Consort jerked forward, lapping it up. He thrust his head deep into the gap between her mandibles, humming and sighing.

Delrael watched in disgust. Bryl turned his head. The other Anteds stood guard around them, motionless.

“Enough!” Ryx pushed the part-human creature away. Rebuffed, Consort hunkered down in front of her. His clawed hands swayed loosely. “That is your reward. What have you brought me?”

Delrael realized Ryx had her head cocked off to the side, as if seeing through other eyes. Consort stared up at the huge queen ant in admiration, then tilted his head sideways to stare at the travelers with his bulging dry eyes.

“Five characters. Questers. One small, one old, one strong, one medium, and … ” He looked long at Journeyman, “And one made of mud.”

Consort stood up as straight as he could, swaying his hooked hands around his kneecaps, then turned to face the motionless queen again. He stiffened, and Ryx’s feelers vibrated with intense speed.

Ryx raised her head and continued in her humming voice. “A typical adventuring party. What is your quest?” Her polished head turned toward the wall behind the travelers.

Delrael fumbled in his mind, searching for a viable excuse, but his mind went blank.

Tallin’s response was quicker. “We’re just mercenaries. When the Game slowed down, this blasted peace put us out of work! We heard stories about a battle brewing in the east, and we’re making our way there. Any problems with that?”

Ryx tilted her head toward the ylvan’s voice for a long moment. Tallin stood defiant next to Delrael. Journeyman looked flat and emotionless; Vailret bit his lip; Bryl scrambled up from his daze on the floor, looking around in fear. The queen of the Anteds shifted her blank head toward the half-Sorcerer.

“You are no mercenaries. That one’s afraid of his own reflection.”